


in the shadow of love

by amuk



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Living Together, M/M, Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26656870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: Jihyun knew that change was inevitable. Nothing stayed the same, and so even his relationship with Jumin couldn’t stay stagnant. What he hadn’t realized, though, was that some changes were for the better.
Relationships: Han Jumin/V | Kim Jihyun
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	in the shadow of love

**Author's Note:**

> For the JuminV zine! This is one of those stories where I had the perfect image for it in my mind, but somehow it was difficult to get it down on paper.

“The great Jumin, folding clothes.” Jihyun chuckled, his shoulders shaking. “I never thought I’d see the day.” He paused, before smiling self-depreciating. “In a sense.”

In a sense was the only way to put it. Jumin watched from the corner of his eye as Jihyun folded his pants, his hands blindly groping beside him until he found a new piece. By now the blindness was permanent, according to every doctor they’d visited. And some that he’d seen on his own, privately, without Jihyun’s knowledge. There were some things that couldn’t be fixed.

That smile had better not be one of them. Coolly, Jumin slowly folded a shirt. “I do take care of my own laundry on occasion.” And that was only partially a lie—this was the only occasion he’d do this. On his right were carefully written instructions, a diagram on how to fold every piece of clothing imaginable, and perhaps he should see to giving Jaehee a raise.

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” Jihyun pressed the pads of his fingers into his tan shirt, his eyes closed. In the background, they could hear the sounds of hammers banging, of contractors walking the length of Jumin’s apartment. “You did not have to do this.”

“It is just folding.” Jumin pressed the shirt sleeve down firmly, smoothing out any wrinkles. “It is actually calming.”

“Not just sorting my clothing—the renovations.” Jihyun gestured at the room around him, the room that still smelled of fresh paint. The walls were a bright yellow now, a colour Jumin had never known he’d detested until he was surrounded by it. “The lights, carpeting, everything. You didn’t have to do this. I do have my own place, you know.”

“That ‘place’ is ill-equipped to handle you.” Jumin snorted derisively, thinking of that small house with its cluttered rooms. He’d been against it when Jihyun bought it and if there was one good thing to all of this, it was that he’d finally managed to pry him out of it. “The location is also too remote.”

“Perhaps.” Jihyun neatly folded his pants in half, setting it on the growing stack beside him. “Either way, thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Jumin dismissed with a shake of his head. “That’s not why I did it.”

“Nevertheless, thanks.” Jihyun paused. “And thank Jahee for me as well.”

“…I will.”

-x-

Change was inevitable. Jihyun knew that. He had known that for years—there was a reason he loved the camera. Photography was an art of preserving things as they were, of capturing a moment of time and immortalizing it.

Opening a drawer, he rifled through the shirts neatly pressed and stacked inside. There were small safety pins attached to each one: one symbolized grey, two green, three white. A code he had memorized as they attached pin after pin. Picking up a white one, he pressed it to his nose and inhaled. There was the faintest trace of lavender, of sunlight, a scent that he had long associated with Rika. Her fingerprints were all over his things, her memories connected to even the most innocent objects.

Yet, almost overpowering her scent, was a darker, muskier scent. An aroma tinged with the faintest traces of cat food. A smell that permeated the rest of the apartment and Jihyun wouldn’t be surprised if he found it on himself at this point.

Change was inevitable. For once, he found himself looking forward to what this change would bring.

-x-

Jumin was not one to repeat himself. Things only needed to be articulated once and either the other person heard it, or they didn’t. To repeat oneself was uncouth. Yet, staring at the camera in his hands, his jaw fell slack and he couldn’t help his reaction. “You want me to do what?”

“Sell it.” Jihyun brushed his hand on the top of the camera reverently. There was a hint of sadness, of apology, in his lowered eyes, his turned down lips. His finger stopped on the button, pressing it down one last time. “Donate it. As long as it finds a good home, that is all I can ask.”

“Your camera.” Still dumbfounded, Jumin tightened his grip on the device. Its edges felt harder than he remembered.

“My camera,” Jihyun confirmed, stepping back now. He clasped his hands behind his back, his head slightly bowed. “I…I can no longer use it, after all.”

“That…” Jumin paused, processing it all. There was no refuting his words, no denying it. It was a fact and he should have remembered it by now. “That is true.” He held the camera awkwardly. “What will you do now?”

No, that wasn’t what he wanted to ask. Jumin could only remember Jihyun with his camera, with his eye in the viewfinder and his head in the clouds. When they were ten, with a gap-toothed grin as he clumsy took shot after shot. When they were fifteen and he was experimenting with polaroid and filters. At twenty-one and he was nervously setting up his first exhibition. That was Jihyun.

_Who will you be now_? were the words he’d wanted to ask. Who was Jihyun without his photos, who would point out the smallest flowers when they walked or the colours of every sunset. And if Jihyun wouldn’t be the same, if Jihyun would turn into a stranger, then what was Jumin’s place with this changed man?

It unsettled him. It scared him.

Jumin could only nod as Jihyun replied, tightening his grip on the camera until he left his imprint.

-x-

It was night. Of that much, Jihyun was certain. The big window in his room had the blinds permanently up and during the day sunlight would filter in, warm and comforting. While he was blind, Jihyun could still see some shapes, large grey blobs that he could now identify as Jumin and his furniture. Now, though, the shades of grey decreased into an almost uniform mass. The lights were off, then. Jumin must be asleep.

Quietly, he stepped outside of his room. At his feet, a plush carpet indicated the path toward the other rooms and Jihyun pressed his hand on the wall as he followed it. Passing by Jumin’s room, he could hear him breathing softly, steadily. A slight whistle as he breathed in through his nose. A low snore as he exhaled. Jihyun regretted losing his sight. An unguarded Jumin; he wanted to see it, to drink it in. To capture it with his camera.

Automatically, his feet led him to the spare room, to the art station that Jumin had set up for him. What he couldn’t see, he’d draw. His fingers dipped into the cold paints, not even bothering with the paint brush, and he smeared black across the white canvas. The paint settled in chunks, small bumps of paint that he smoothened down in places. Next was white, then blue. Colour after colour was layered on the canvas and by the time he stopped, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there.

A small chime shook him out of his revere. Seconds after, Elizabeth the Third jumped onto his lap, the bell ringing softly as she settled on him. Jumin had bought it three days after Jihyun had moved in and exactly one second after Jihyun had accidentally stepped on her tail.

“Elizabeth the Third,” Jihyun murmured as she leaned on his belly. “What do you think? Does it look like your master?”

She purred in response and he hoped it was a yes.

-x-

“Ah.” Jihyun took a delicate sip from his wine glass, his eyes closing reflexively out of delight. “It’s been a while since we came here.”

Jumin leaned back in his seat, turning slightly to take in the view. This restaurant used to be a favourite of theirs, somewhere they’d meet at least once a month. Situated next to a picturesque river, the restaurant served only the finest wines and the freshest fish. All three of them would order different meals, with Rika stealing—

Jumin didn’t want to finish the thought. The memory. There were too many things here linked to her, too many memories made here, and he was suddenly reminded of why they’d stopped coming in the first place. His anger toward her was raw, palpable, and that wasn’t why he was here tonight.

No, tonight they were just here to enjoy a meal at a favourite place and celebrate Elizabeth the Third’s modeling debut. Picking up his own glass, he swirled it. “It has been almost too long since we came here.” He brought the glass to his nose, inhaling the delectable scent. “The house brand’s quality remains the same.”

“Is that the only compliment you can give? Indirect ones?” In a good mood, Jihyun laced his fingers and rested his chin on it. There was a light flush on his cheeks. He closed his eyes. “They changed the band.”

Jumin turned to the stage. Four women sat on the stage, all of them carrying a different stringed instrument. “It’s a four-string quartet now.” He listened for a moment, paying attention. “They are better than the group they had before.”

“I don’t know, I liked the other group. Their music was cheerful. Even Ri—” Jihyun cut himself off, his eyes lowered.

Something boiled in Jumin, something dark and ugly. Would her memory ever not hurt? Before he could say anything, a waiter approached, his footsteps barely audible over the music. “Here you are, sirs.” The waiter handed out a menu to each of them before standing back, notepad in hand.

It took Jumin all of five seconds to realize the menu wasn’t in braille. A sixth second to turn to the waiter. Jihyun’s hand covered his in the seventh, his voice calm and collected as he held out the menu. “The bibimbap.”

Jumin stared down at their connected hands. The coolness of Jihyun’s hand did little to calm his rage. His blood felt hot, almost ready to explode. Clenching his teeth, he spit out, “The same.”

Maybe the waiter felt his fury, because he scrambled away without even confirming their orders. Another black mark against him. Jihyun stroked the side of Jumin’s wrist, his voice low and comforting. “Jumin? Are you okay?”

Yes. No. All he had was this white hot anger, this dark and murky thing that coiled inside of him. He didn’t know who he wanted to direct it at. The waiter for not bringing the right menu. Rika for all that she did, all that she said. Himself for not noticing in time.

At Jihyun, for nothing saying anything.

“Yes.” Jumin restrained himself, forcing a smile Jihyun couldn’t see.

-x-

Jihyun could smell alcohol the second the door opened. Strong, repugnant, it permeated through the air, and he scrambled to his feet and toward the door. It was strange how familiar this apartment had become, how well he knew the carpeted paths and where they’d take him. Within minutes, he was at the door, just in time to hear it slam shut.

“Jihyun?” Jumin warbled. There was a soft thud as something hit the wall. No, someone.

“Jumin?” Groping blindly in front of him, Jihyun felt Jumin’s arm. Then his shoulder. Then the rest of him as Jumin leaned heavily on him. Startled, he took a step back, adjusting to the new weight. “How much did you drink?”

“A litttle,” Jumin slurred. This was a complete novelty; Jumin almost never got drunk. The rare times he did, it wasn’t stumbling drunk.

“More than a little,” Jihyun sighed, wrapping Jumin’s arm around his shoulders. Slowly, he dragged him toward his bed, a process easier said than done. It would have been easier if Jumin had just been a deadweight. Instead, he tried to help, stumbling from one side to the other, threatening to pull Jihyun off the carpet and into a lost, unknown area.

“I’m shorry,” Jumin mumbled into his neck, sending a shiver down Jihyun’s spine. This close, Jihyun could almost feel his lips as he shaped the words, feel his voice more than hear it. “I’m shorry.”

“It’s fine, don’t get this drunk again.” It was impossible to lean away and still keep his grip on Jumin. He settled for craning his neck slightly away. However awkward it felt, it didn’t unnerve him as much as Jumin’s proximity.

“No, nott that.” Jumin shook his head, his hair brushing against Jihyun’s skin. “I…I couldn’t shave you. Shave your eyes.”

Jihyun almost dropped him then and there. Stopping, he turned to look at Jumin, but even this close he couldn’t make out his expression. Maybe if he touched his face, but he couldn’t do that and still hold onto him. “What?” he uttered softly.

“I should have shtopped Rika.” Jumin wasn’t crying but it felt like it. “Should have shtopped you. I’m shorry.”

“It’s not.” He faltered—was this what’d been bothering Jumin recently? This guilt? These bottled up feelings? “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m shorry,” Jumin repeated, a never-ending apology that continued long after Jihyun put him to bed.

-x-

“Jumin.” In the spare-bedroom-come-studio, Jihyun patted on the second chair he’d set up. While Jumin hadn’t remembered a thing the next day, he had. And had taken a week to think about it all, to think about his response. “Could you sit here?”

Without questioning him, Jumin padded toward the chair. “This feels familiar.” He sat down with a soft swish. “It’s been a long time since you used me as a model.”

“That’s because it’s been a long time since you were free enough to do it.” Jihyun couldn’t help the chuckle at the memories—Jumin had been his first model. He’d spent years photographing him. Holding out his hands, he asked, “Can I feel your face?”

“Yes.”

Jumin guided his hands towards his face and hesitantly, Jihyun pressed the pads of his fingers against Jumin’s cheeks. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips in a set line. All of it as usual. He brushed Jumin’s skin with his thumb, feeling the small rough patches in an otherwise perfectly smooth skin. There was nothing Jihyun was gaining through this; he had known this face since they were elementary kids. Even blind, he could draw it perfectly.

This was the face of someone who’d been there for him, through thick and thin. Someone who had tried to reach out, no matter what response he’d gotten back. Somewhere along the way, Jihyun had forgotten that. What their friendship had meant. What their relationship was. The bond between them that was stronger than anything and he had been so determined to do it on his own.

“I’m sorry,” Jihyun murmured, feeling the muscles on Jumin’s face shift as his expression changed. A knitted brow. Firmer lips. Displeasure radiated from every pore.

“For what?”

For not believing in him. For not telling the truth. For many things, really. But Jihyun wasn’t drunk enough to say it all and Jumin wasn’t drunk enough to hear it and instead he shook his head. “What happened with Rika wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that,” Jumin answered bluntly, his brow furrowing even more.

“And what happened with me wasn’t your fault,” Jihyun continued.

At that, Jumin fell silent.

“It wasn’t,” Jihyun repeated, keeping his grip firm on Jumin’s face. “It wasn’t your fault, so don’t blame yourself. Not when you’ve done so much for me. I’m sorry for…I’m sorry that you…” _I’m sorry_ wasn’t the right word and he stumbled slightly, trying to figure out what to say. Jumin’s warmth radiated through his hands, a warmth he had almost forgotten, and he was not sure what happened but an electric shock ran through him. Leaning forward, he kissed Jumin firmly and pulled back. “I love you. So don’t…don’t…”

For a moment, Jumin froze, and Jihyun realized what he’d done. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. Before he could retract his hands, Jumin’s were covering his, his head turning slightly so he could kiss Jihyun’s palms. “Is it true?” he asked, his voice low.

“It is. It always has been.” As friends first. As lovers now. A change, but change wasn’t bad, not always. And as Jumin pulled him close, Jihyun wondered just what this change would bring.


End file.
